


Inside The Hollow Castle

by illune



Category: overwatch
Genre: Coping, Doubt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Recall, Pre-Recall, Pre-Relationship, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9372362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illune/pseuds/illune
Summary: What happens when a cowboy and a knight share some time together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for days 1 and 2 of McHardt Week, Guardian and Home respectively.

From very early in his life, Jesse McCree knew he  would meet his early demise in battle. His life, a constant run between fights and bullets, couldn’t have a happy ending; his foresight didn’t stretch far enough to imagine himself settling down, buying a house, and growing old with someone. He would be just one more face in the dead masses of the war. Perhaps, if he was lucky enough, he would be used as an example of how young lives are wasted, his name carried on as a synonym of unnecessary stupidity and rash decisions.

A piece of scrap metal cut the side of his face as it flew by, sticking to the wall behind him. The sudden sting made him gasp, and McCree remembered that he probably had a punctured lung, if not a completely perforated one from either shrapnel or a very unlucky shot. Jesse was unable to comm for help; his voice coming out as grunts of pain or quiet whimpers. He didn’t bother screaming either, as the sounds of shooting and explosions would drown him out immediately. 

Perhaps he wouldn’t grow older than thirty, but the weight of Peacekeeper against his chest comforted him. The rubble around him would have to suffice as company; at the very least, if he got buried in it then there wouldn’t be a need to dig a grave, right?

Right.

People said that when one is close to death, a wave of peace falls over their body and it lets them fade away into the abyss. But this couldn’t be it. McCree knew that peace didn’t feel like scorching eyes, didn’t taste like blood, didn’t mean crying out of fear and pain. Peace didn’t mean regretting his life up to that point, wishing he had Tracer’s ability to turn back time. He would trade all his red for that blue glow of the clunky machine on her chest, for just one redo. 

McCree didn’t know exactly how long he had been sitting there, trying to keep himself together while feeling blood drip slowly out of him, when a wall of blue tinted his surroundings. He had been around enough barriers to know that someone had lifted one just in front of him, but Jesse decided against screaming in joy. The heavy steps of what he could only guess was a tank walked slowly towards him, and as the dust cleared an intimidating figure towered over him. McCree hadn’t been on Overwatch for too long, but he knew the man inside the armor from random dossiers he had read during his stay under Reyes’ command. Reinhardt Wilhelm, a member of the original Strike team, terribly loud and energetic for his age. Loved Hasselhoff. Jesse always laughed when he thought of that giant of a man listening to Knight Lover, either for how fitting it was or how ridiculous he would look while dancing.

The noises got progressively quieter as Reinhardt moved towards him, facing away towards the fight with his shield up and the signature hammer ready behind him. Once the knight was close enough, Jesse could hear Angela’s faint voice in Reinhardt's comm, and him replying back in an almost cheerful tone. Words were thrown around, but the sudden possibility of salvation made McCree leave his survivability state and jump into the realization that he was  _ barely _ cognizant and could only feel some parts of his body.

His mind screamed when Reinhardt disabled his barrier and picked him up. Every inch of his body had become stiff, and the rushed movement strained muscles that were far too weak from blood loss. His left arm was completely broken, something he had barely noticed while trying to focus on Peacekeeper on his right hand. His insides felt  _ wrong _ , twisted and void. Nothing about the situation screamed salvation to McCree, except for the fact that Reinhardt was rushing through the battlefield to get him to safety. They ran among gunfire and thunderous roars, Jesse’s broken body vibrating along with Reinhardt’s voice and movements. The sturdiness and sharp edges of the armor turned out to be a thousand times more comfortable than the concrete and metal rods McCree had been in before.

After blinking just once, in an attempt to clean away the dirt that inevitably entered his eyes from running through a battlefield, he was suddenly looking straight at a white ceiling. It had been the fastest sleep for Jesse, a matter of losing consciousness for barely a second. Before fear could set in, Jesse found comfort in the fact that the explosions were gone and his body was sore, yet completely fine. He had been disarmed, his clothes replaced by a robe. Underneath him, a comfortable bed hugged his body. Panic never came, he had woken up in that room too many times already and the laugh that had woken him was perfectly recognizable.

The bed next to McCree let out a painful whirring as the man stood up from it and moved closer towards Jesse.

“Angela! The kid has woken up.” The echo of the enclosed space increased Reinhardt’s voice exponentially, making Jesse’s head hurt. “I told you he was a fighter!”

McCree heard the hurried tapping of Angela’s shoes as she approached him, asking Reinhardt to lower the volume of his voice. She proceeded to examine Jesse´s body and eyes, asking how he felt, where it hurt, if he was experiencing any form of acute pain or disorientation. He denied feeling bad, even if his body wasn’t exactly in good shape yet. Reyes had called him  _ stubborn and stupid _ so many times now that he might actually believe it.

Reinhardt stood silently next to the doctor, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked at Jesse carefully, smiling slightly and nodding his head. McCree didn’t really want to explain what he was feeling, but if he had to choose a word it would come close to  _ gratification _ . He was used to giving back in return every time someone did him a favor, no matter how small it was, and that man had just saved his life. The least he could do was to thank him profusely, but he decided against it. 

The next day, however, Jesse found himself walking back and forth in front of Reinhardt’s room, deciding if it was even a good idea to be there in the first place. He was the new guy that barely anyone knew, and Morrison constantly gave him a bad look with such a passion that everyone already knew that McCree only meant trouble. If Reinhardt also had that image of him, then this type of humiliation would be a topic of conversation for days.

He could try and convince people all he wanted, but at the end of the day McCree cared an awful lot of all the lies and gossip that was being made behind his back. He knew more than well how much a reputation was worth, be it false or real. The wrong kind of rumor could get you killed, a lie told by third party could mean getting targeted by an international organization. His Deadlock and Blackwatch days were experience enough to prove this as true.

The door opened just as Jesse decided to send him a “Thank you Tank” card from Overwatch’s gift shop along with some sort of German sweet. A meaningless gift for panicked situations. Reinhardt’s pat on the back felt more like someone hit McCree with a truck, all air escaping from his body. The German’s laugh and happy voice echoed in the hall, the people walking in it apparently unfazed by the loud sounds as if it was a common occurrence. Jesse was suddenly very aware of how his head would fit inside one of Reinhardt’s hands, and how easy it would be to get crushed by them. A tingling feeling overtook McCree’s stomach when Reinhardt told him that, after seeing him survive that almost fatal encounter in the battlefield, he thought Jesse would be a pretty reliable tank if he could only get a bit more meat and muscle in his body. 

In their brief interaction, there was no time for Jesse to properly thank him. Reinhardt’s eloquence and ability to channel a conversation in such a way that the other person just  _ had _ to ask for more information was perfect. His tales of the wars, the Crusaders, his master and all the feats Reinhardt had accomplished enraptured Jesse as they walked together towards the mess hall. 

Maybe it was inevitable for admiration to grow and mutate into what only could be described as a crush. Jesse, thinking that it sounded awfully idiotic, decided to simply call it a  _ manly attraction _ . Stubborn and stupid enough to not simply call it a crush, someone young falling for a man out of his apparent league, rank, and who was way older than himself. None of it stopped McCree from becoming a loyal shadow for Reinhardt, intently listening to all of his stories, bits of knowledge and training tips.

In the years where he had to remain in Overwatch, McCree found himself dreading the times where the other man had to go on missions, yet relishing in his company every time they were sent out together. Jesse never pushed his luck, however, and never seeked out Reinahardt in his free time if he knew he would be around other Overwatch members. Jesse wasn’t being shy, but selfish: if he was to spend time with Reinhardt, he wanted the man’s attention all for himself. They spent some hours together every week, but Jesse wanted more out of their friendship. 

When the notice that Ana Amari was missing in action and presumed dead arrived, everyone mourned her and took care of Fareeha. McCree, however, immediately found himself making his way towards Reinhardt’s room. Surely, Ana had been an amazing friend and little Fa was almost a sister to him, but no one was paying attention to the man who had lost a very close friend and was suddenly missing. As Jesse opened the door he saw Reinhardt’s silhouette sitting down next to his bed. The room’s lights were out, but there was enough natural sunlight coming from a small opening in between the window’s curtains.

Just before he sat down next to him, McCree noticed the small device on Reinhardt’s hand.

“She wanted to give her more Horus things, but little Fa likes rockets.” His voice was deep, void of the usual cheer. “I figured that Torbjorn could make a good launcher for her, and they could both paint it together. Something fun, right?”

Reinhardt gently put the grey rocket launcher on the floor and sighed. He turned to Jesse, a solemn look on his face. McCree could only wonder if that was how he looked in battle behind his helmet, when he held the lives of his comrades on his shoulders. 

“A bad idea. Ana does not want her fighting.” Reinhardt continued. “Did. Ana did not want her fighting.”

They both remained in silence until the sun went down. Now that he was protected by the darkness Jesse meekly gave his condolences to Reinhardt, who let out a hum in return and placed his hand over Jesse’s head. His size was very misguiding, as Reinhardt’s touch could be extremely delicate in occasions where it mattered. Mix that with the lion motif, and McCree was head over heels for a giant cat. Even though very few words were said, they grew closer by the simple fact of being there for each other at the correct time. The power of silence proved to be far better than any attempt to convey proper words. 

Jesse saw an immediate improvement in Reinhardt’s interest towards him, the man seeking him out and even eating next to him in some occasions. It would be months before he got his spirits back, but by then McCree and Reinhardt had already established some level of intimacy that lacked any form of bad intention. It was a simple, caring friendship that grew with each day. One that made Jesse impatient for the possibility of more. 

However this came to a screeching halt when Overwatch disbanded, and the Swiss HQ met its demise. McCree had jumped the boat before everything came crashing down, and the regret of doing so would follow him for years to come. He had barely said goodbye to Genji before disappearing from the headquarters, not wanting to face any other team member in case guilt attacked him and made him second-guess his decision. For the first time in twenty years, McCree was able to get in charge of his life and he left behind a family and a person he loved. History had repeated itself; the cowboy was running away. 

It took him a year and a half to track down Reinhardt after the incident. The first months after the explosion, Overwatch was in the spotlight and its members were being investigated as potential terrorists. The notice of Morrison and Reyes’ death was of no surprise to Jesse, somewhere in the back of his head he  _ knew  _ that those two were not going to grow older. Staying in a low profile while the investigations were going on made it impossible to freely look for the Knight. His original plan was to run away to America, find his home and make amends, but he always ended up postponing the trip. Instead, he roamed Europe.

He found Reinhardt in Poland, along with a woman called Brigitte. 

Jesse didn’t approach; the knight looked happy and loud as ever. There was no need to bring back the past, McCree was probably just one more person to have abandoned Reinhardt. The only difference was that, unlike the other three founders of Overwatch, Jesse had voluntarily left Reinhart behind. Sometimes, being left behind was worse than facing the death of a loved one. The Knight had moved on, as he rightly should have, and that was the push Jesse needed for him to carry on. The week hadn’t been over when he flew to New Mexico, the place where he became a runaway for almost half a decade.

Sometimes he would see, taste or hear things that reminded him of the days where he had some semblance of stability. The clanking of clashing metal, heavy armors, ornate cups of tea, dragons and princesses, skulls, a roar of laughter. The desert won over him, and Jesse McCree became a nostalgic cowboy.

That was, until Recall.

The night his mobile comm rang, he was staying in a wagon of an abandoned train. The thing had seen a better decade, but with teleporters and aircrafts it had been abandoned to its luck. As the loud music interrupted the quiet night, McCree almost unloaded Peacekeeper into a box. Being on the run made one snap at any sudden movement or sound, but he had enough training to avoid killing innocent people in a fit of panic. He, of course, didn’t expect Winston’s calm voice informing that he had the choice of coming back to the new Overwatch being formed in Gibraltar. Tracer’s jumping and screaming could be heard in the back, bringing a smile to his face.

He didn’t accept. At least not straight away. Firstly because he was being hunted down like a prized animal, secondly because he wasn’t prepared to face all the people he had left behind in his selfish flee. He wanted the safety of Overwatch and craved the familiarity of the bases and rooms he had once known.

He had forgotten how uncomfortable the tingling in his stomach felt, but when the heat of Gibraltar hit him in the face a month later, the sensation invaded his whole body. Some people say that asking for permission is easier than asking for forgiveness, and the way Jesse’s legs screamed to run back and hide in a town far away from prying eyes seemed to confirm this. It was a win-win situation for him to be under the protection of Overwatch, but knowing all the people he had worked with, none of them would hold a grudge against his ways. Even though he clearly deserved anything bad coming his way. 

When he was received by pats on the back and worried questions, his heart started to soften up. Torbjorn immediately took him by the prosthetic and started an inspection, Lena wanted to hear all about his travels in America, Angela nagged at him for his smoking habits, Genji made fun of his attire. Familiarity all around. When he was taken off the ground and embraced by giant arms, Jesse McCree knew he had made the right decision. The deafening laughter and inability to breathe almost brought joyful tears to his eyes. He had forgotten the love he had for the warmness of Reinhardt and his unconditional happiness. 

McCree couldn’t savour much of the moment; he was rushed by Winston to set up in his room and Angela informed him that dinner would be done at any moment. Jesse didn’t hold many belongings, but he certainly took his time to wander around the base and allowed himself to smile at old memories. His room was small, with a single window, a bed, and an even smaller bathroom. He couldn’t help but wonder if Reinhardt’s room would be like all others, because if so then the German man would have quite the hard time fitting inside the shower.

For the first time in years he left Peacekeeper in his room and ate a hot dinner surrounded by people he trusted, openly smiling and reminiscing the golden years of Overwatch, trading travel stories and embarrassing moments that could’ve been fatal. Noise, laughter, a space where he didn’t need to look over his shoulder. It wouldn’t take much time for him to get used to being back, at least he hoped not. It didn’t matter how undeserving of safety he felt, McCree wouldn’t let an opportunity like this slip away, not again.

The moment everyone called it a night and returned to their rooms, Jesse decided to take a long, warm shower. It was almost pathetic how convinced he had gotten that such  _ fancy amenities _ could cost him his life, moments of extreme vulnerability like that one were unthinkable on the run. The set of clean sleeping clothes, Overwatch standard with its logo, was also a welcomed change on his usual choice of pajamas. He figured that there was enough intimacy in that room, and only wore the sweatpants. McCree didn’t have much time to take in the austere look of his room, with barely a duffle bag and his serape on the bed, when a knock on the door startled him. He immediately went to grab Peacemaker from the holster in his leg, but both of them were on the small desk. Old habits don’t die easily, and it would take him a while to stop jumping at sudden sounds.

He wasn’t surprised to see Reinhardt on the other side, it was almost as if Jesse was expecting him. He was wearing the same standard sweatpants that Overwatch issued, and a gigantic hoodie with the organization’s logo. In one of his hands he carried a six pack of beers, the crate looked tiny in comparison to the man holding it.

“I keep forgetting how small these rooms are,” the older man said, walking inside. “I asked Torbjorn if he wanted to join, but he had half of his body inside a machine and asked not to interrupt him. Some things never change.” 

Reinhardt sat down on the floor, a loud thud coming from him, and quickly opened two of the beers, handing one to McCree. It didn’t take long for them to start reminiscing again, just as they did a couple hours before at dinner. Who would’ve thought that Jesse would enjoy being partially deaf after every roaring laughing fit, or not minding the clear bruising that Reinhardt’s constant patting would leave on his back. He tried to ignore the goosebumps on his skin every time they happened, it was way too late for him to find any form of attraction.

The night carried on with tales of Reinhardt’s numerous travels around Europe with Brigitte, who he called his faithful companion and irreplaceable friend. After the initial shock and relief of hearing how Brigitte enjoyed the company of other ladies, the stories took on a note of a futuristic, and possibly miles smarter, Don Quixote. Jesse had always been quick to jump into false assumptions, and that time he hadn’t been any wiser. Once again, stubborn and stupid.  

After Jesse ran out of good things to say about the desert and its overwhelming nothingness, while he was being handed the third bottle of beer, it was awfully clear that he needed an answer for an unresolved question that had plagued him ever since abandoning Overwatch. He cleared his throat to grab Reinhardt’s attention, an unnecessary step that  he had gotten used to do.

"Do you think we had a chance?" Jesse asked timidly, the bottle in his hand swaying slightly. "Way back when, before I walked away from it all."  
The confusion in Reinhardt's face made McCree uncomfortable, he never really accepted the possibility that perhaps his feelings were one sided.  
"Y'know," he continued, the twang in his voice not hiding its tremble, "like, getting together. You and I. Maybe we weren't all up on each other, but there had to be something there right?"

Reinhardt remained in silence, staring at a blank point in the wall. His breathing was calm but his eyes told Jesse that his mind was racing. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

"I don't know, McCree." Reinhard sighed before continuing, straightening his back. "You were really young and it didn't feel right. I liked you, but not in that way."

Past possibilities didn't hurt, but the confirmation of how over his head he was made Jesse down the beer in one gulp. At the very least, he didn't have anything else to hold onto and could move on with his life. Reinhardt was still an invaluable friend, but anything other than that was locked behind a wall of platonic friendship. For the first time in years, a let down made McCree feel good. This was his consequence, karma from abandoning his friends. 

Reinhardt, still by his side, shifted and turned his head towards Jesse. The sudden movement made him feel uncomfortable, as if the serape was strangling him. He didn't expect Reinhardt to say anything, but he cleaned his throat while Jesse tried to free from the cumbersome piece of cloth, only to find nothing was keeping him from breathing. The serape still laid on the bed behind them.

"It wasn't that you were immature. I mean what I said: It didn't feel right. To dump it all in such a young man with brighter days in front of him." His voice got progressively more somber with each word, his eyes straying from Jesse's face "When you become the frontline of battle, not only the lives of your friends are upon you, but of all the people Overwatch swore to protect. With such a heavy weight, you would only drown."

McCree knew that Reinhardt was a considerate man towards other people, but the lengths he would go to keep everyone happy and somehow stable were absurd. Sometimes selfishness was needed to stay alive, both emotionally and physically, and it seemed that concept was hard for Reinhardt to accept. Selflessness is not always the way. Before Jesse could talk, the older man continued.

"I was always glad that you left when you did. Everyone knew the organization had its days numbered. Some of us just-" Reinhardt sighed, leaving his bottle aside and placing both of his hands on each side of his head. "I just didn't want to accept it. Denial is a terrible curse, Jesse. Fighting gave me meaning, a purpose. With it gone, I was no one."

He let out a heavy sigh, and McCree decided against interrupting him. If his walls were coming down, then it was only right if Jesse listened to what he had to say.

“I lost three of the people I cared most. It still hurts, after all these years,” Reinhardt continued, still looking down. “Not knowing what happened, why they died, is the worst feeling in the world. Then everyone grew apart. Bureaucracy tore our broken family apart. Everyone just left.”

His big hands grabbed locks of white hair tightly, knuckles turning pale with the pressure. The sadness in Reinhardt’s voice was clear, even if he tried to hold back. It was painful, to see him like that, finally showing the despair that lived in his mind.

“Tell me Jesse, how do you live knowing that all we fought for, our comrades, the people we loved, they all disappeared?” Reinhardt’s voice cracked, but he quickly regained his composure. “I suffer for them as if it was the day the Swiss headquarters exploded.”

Jesse looked at Reinhardt longingly, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder which was quickly covered by a bigger one. The fact that Reinhardt was never able to cope and carried on with a smile on his face was dangerous. A hollow man is easy to snap.

“They barely died in my head. I keep seeing them, mostly when I dream. Sometimes I’m convinced that they saved me on some days. Reyes’ ruthlessness, Ana’s knack for preparation. They’re somehow alive in the things they taught me. Maybe it’s cheesy but hey, you’re the knight in shining armor, how much cheesier can you get.”

Reinhardt let out a weak laugh, and shook his head in what Jesse could hope was an amused response.

“You think I’m joking, but at the very least you saved me.” Reinhardt looked at him, half smiling “That’s gotta count for something right?”

The older man nodded, and McCree felt the need to be the one giving out the hugs this time. It proved to be quite the feat, his arms didn’t cover the other man’s shoulders properly and he had to make a great deal of stretching. Reinhardt, however, greatly accepted the comfort and hugged back softly, trapping Jesse by the waist.

“It’s ok big cat,” McCree couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on his face. “You’ve done more good than what you give yourself credit.”

Reinhardt’s body trembled, and Jesse feared if he said something wrong or to upset him more. Instead, the knight’s head looked up from under McCree’s arms, a bright smile painted on his face, his chest vibrating with the beginning of a laugh.

“Big cat?”

McCree felt himself blushing and it took him a ridiculously big amount of effort to maintain eye contact.

“Well, you have your whole lion thing going on and-” Reinhardt’s chuckle worsened Jesse’s embarrassment. “Ok fine it’s stupid, you can shut up now.”

Close spaces and tight spots had never been a problem for McCree, but as Reinhardt’s face softened in a warm smile he felt the need to open the windows. Perhaps escape from one. He had gotten himself in this problem, of loving someone who didn’t want him the same way. Now it was time to suffer a bit more. As Jesse started to let go from the hug, Reinhardt’s fingers locked in place right above his waist and prevented him from going away.

“Perhaps we could try,” Reinhard said, slowly and carefully. “ _ Give it a chance _ as you might say. The years have treated us wrongly, maybe we can change that together.”

McCree’s mind pushed two different thoughts at him. The first one was screaming for him to jump out of the god damned window and land who knows how many feet down and covered in glass, then run away and never look back. 

The second was a very relieved and quiet  _ finally _ .

Reinhardt raising his eyebrows waiting for some sort of acknowledgement made McCree snap back to reality, and shut his hanging jaw. His fight or flight instincts sometimes had the weirdest triggers, and feeling trapped only made his knees weak. Surely, that was it. Words couldn’t make him this nervous, he had been in and out of death’s door more times than he could count but a proposition destroyed him. Too many times he had wondered and imagined the many  _ what ifs _ , and now one presented itself on a silver plate. There was no way he would pass it up.

“Perhaps we could try,” McCree agreed, trying to hide his eyes with his hat but once again remembering it was somewhere in the room and not on his head. “Hell, why not.”

Reinhardt laughed, seeing McCree so red and shaky wasn’t like him. He tried to cover the other man’s mouth with his prosthetic, a flimsy attempt to feel less vulnerable, but ended up caressing his face. Jesse smiled, still unsure what to do with himself to look at least a third of how composed he was supposed to be. It was hard to keep a poker face when his home was finally there, with open arms, and ignoring his betrayal.

This time, if it all burned down, he would be there to pick up the ashes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The correct thing would've been to write a fic for each day/prompt but this guy right here is slow ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ


End file.
